


my god if i could only say (i'm holding every breath for you)

by roseandheather



Category: Code Black (TV)
Genre: 3x06 spoilers!!, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 09:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14808428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseandheather/pseuds/roseandheather
Summary: They could have died today. But they didn't.





	my god if i could only say (i'm holding every breath for you)

It's already full dark when the knock comes on the door.

He sighs and heads for the entrance, toes catching on the ragged hems of his pajama bottoms. The knock comes again, sharper this time, more insistent somehow, and he lets out a snort of annoyance. "Just a second, Dad!" he calls, and opens the door before he can think to turn on the light.

 _Stupid,_ he'll think, much later.  _Very, very stupid._

It isn't his father.

Rox stands on the other side of the door, her face flushed, her eyes blazing, and God, but if she isn't the most beautiful thing he's ever seen in his life.

"Rox," he says, but it's all he  _can_ say before she's in his arms, kissing him like their world's about to end at any moment.

 _It almost did,_ he thinks, and staggers under the weight of it, under the sudden sinking realization that  _this_ \- this glory, this beauty, this  _necessity_ \- might never have even happened. 

He might have never had this chance, had the  _gift_ that is Roxane Valenzuela in his arms, kissing him still, clinging to him like he's the only real thing in the world. Might never have been able to wrap his arms about her waist in turn, to gather her to him like she's something precious, something  _essential._ They've had only months together but already he cannot imagine a life without her, cannot bear to think of a world that doesn't have her in it. Can't bear to imagine a day where she doesn't pull into the drive, a wry smirk on her lips, a witty comment on her tongue. 

 _I could have lost this,_ he thinks; then,  _I could have lost_ ** _her,_** and his hands are clutching convulsively at her hips, dragging her closer, and then closer still. He doesn't notice when her feet leave the floor, doesn't register it as the door slams shut behind them. All he knows is  _her,_ holding on, the way he wanted to in that tiny tent, the way he's wanted to from the first moment, even before he knew it.

He chases her lips when she pulls away, but then his still-strained lungs seize, and he buries his face in her shoulder as he gasps for breath. She's shaking, too, clutching at his shoulders, half coughing as she drags in air, but when he goes to speak she shakes her head and simply presses her cheek to his, her skin salty and damp with her tears.

"Roxy," he says at last, hoarsely, the endearment slipping out unnoticed. "Roxy, my  _God."_

"I could have lost you today," she chokes. "Ethan, I..." Her voice is smoke-rough and made worse by crying, and if he wasn't already holding her as close to him as humanly possible, he would have embraced her then, to hold and to soothe.

She isn't the first of his colleagues he's held. There was Elliot, of course, and Leanne more times than he can count over the last two years, when one or both of them is too fucking  _tired_ to stand alone. But Leanne in his arms has never once felt like this; he loves Leanne, of course he does, dearly and always, but Roxy is something else, something  _more,_ and more even than simple desire. She's - 

 _Oh,_ he thinks, and then again,  ** _oh._** _Oh dear God._

 _I criss-crossed the world,_ he thinks then, half hysterically,  _and I had to come all the way back home again to meet the love of my life._

It is nothing less than the absolute truth, and he reaches up, runs his hand through her glorious curls, then traces his finger down her temple to cup her cheek in his hand. When he kisses her this time it's long and lingering, pouring everything he cannot yet say (and he thinks - he  _hopes_ \- everything  _she_ cannot say, either) into the touch of his lips on hers. He kisses the tears from her cheeks, from her lips, from her closed eyelids, and she shudders under his hands, a quiet, happy sound in the back of her throat that works its way into his heart and  _grips._

Finally he lowers her to her feet again, but she is still pressed against his chest, her forehead tucked into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder, and he quite simply can't bear to let her go.

"Don't leave me tonight." His words are half request, half outright plea.

As if in answer she presses herself closer, hands fisting in the soft cotton of his shirt, and shakes her head.

"Take me to bed," she whispers, soft and low, and slides her arms up around his neck.

The only answer he can give her is to sweep her off her feet, cradling her safely in his arms as he carries her to the bedroom.

When he wakes in the morning, she's still there.

 


End file.
